Reannetta's Story: A Crimson Tale set in 1675
by laurencia98
Summary: Reannetta seeks revenge for her husband's betrayal, with some help from below.


Reannetta's Story France, 1675  
  
There were not any cries of a newborn babe, nor the joyous shouts from a midwife that night. The only sound that filled the house was the weeping of Reannetta von Hemstedt. She had miscarried another child, and her savior. She knew now that her husband would carry out his threat against her. She could hear his angry raving from outside the door even now.  
"What good is a woman who cannot bear me a son? Who am I to leave my fortune to? The Paupers? Or perhaps the church?," shouted Berthold von Hemstedt.  
"Your wife is still very young, my lord. She was but a girl of fifteen when she had her first child," said the midwife.  
"And that child died too! As did the last three that wench has borne me!," he raged on, "She is a curse!"  
Reannetta clinched her teeth at his words and sobbed madly in her bed. "Please, Madame! You will only anger the Master even more!," pleaded her handmaiden.  
"I do not care! Berthold has spoken much evil against me in the past! This time, his words have angered rather than wounded me!," exclaimed Annetta, as she was called by her household. "I care not what he says. I have long since past caring about anything concerning him." *  
Annetta's eyes opened wide at the sound of the men entering her room. She was still very weak from her pregnancy, but she still managed to fly to her feet as they bombarded her room. "Berthold!," she exclaimed at the sight of him. This was what he had been threatening her with. Three dirty, sordid looking men stood in the doorway, blocking her escape. "What do you plan to do? Murder me, or have these fiends do so for you?," she spat.  
"Neither, my dear. You aren't going to die. These men are going to carry you to your new home," said Berthold with a terrible smile.  
"No! You will have to kill me, you bastard!," she screamed, trying to dodge his attempt to handle her.  
"Hold your tongue!," he said hotly, slapping her jaw. "You will go with these men. I did not expect you to be docile, my dear. You never were, were you?," continued Berthold, pressing her tender breast roughly.  
She slapped his hand away and screamed, "You are the lowest of the low! I have never seen anything so disgusting to my eyes as you are in this moment. To think that I once loved you makes me ill!"  
"You may soon change your mind about that, love, considering where you are headed. Gentleman!," he ordered, motioning towards Annetta.  
"No! I won't let you take me!," she screamed fiercely, and fought back at them as if they were dragging her to Hell itself. Berthold grabbed her jaw, and held it open as one of the men poured some vile-tasting liquid down her throat. She violently spat the remaining potion in Berthold's eyes, and ran for the door on weakening legs. He grabbed her around the neck, and smothered her mouth with his enormous hands. She thought of those hands....those hands that had abused and ill-used her for the last five years since she had been married. Annetta used her last bit of strength and sank her teeth deep into his hand. His dark blood ran threw his fingers and she gagged at the taste of it. "Damn you, wench!," he screamed in pain, slapping her violently away.  
"Madame!," cried her handmaiden, rushing into the room. She gasped in horror at the battered sight of her mistress.  
"Men, get her!," shouted Berthold. "My dear girl, you have just earned yourself a voyage to the Americas." He laughed slightly, his evil fully at the surface.  
"No! Let her go!," screamed Annetta.  
"Now how can I do that, My lady?," he said mockingly. "She's the one person not under my influence who has discovered my plan for you. I shall say she is a slanderous servant, and I have sent her to the Americas to work off her wicked deeds against her mor you. Your life, for instance," said the aristocrat, extending his black gloved hand and clinching the brothel keeper's throat. "Now, tell me where Madame von Hemstedt is."  
"She's here," he said, barely able to breathe. "She is in the first room."  
  
"How did she come to be here? I'll ask you only once, Monsieur. Answer wisely," commanded the aristocrat.  
"Her husband, Lord Berthold, ordered her to be brought here. I know nothing else," he cried in a strangulated voice.  
"You have been most helpful," began the aristocrat, "And now you will forget what you have said or been asked regarding the lady." He raised his hands to the brothel keeper's eyes, and he fell to the floor in a deep sleep. *  
Annetta curled herself up on her bed, and looked at the door like a madwoman. She knew that any moment, a strange man would walk through that door; a strange man who could end her life before she had her revenge. She would not care what became of her after that, but she must live until that time.  
She heard a noise at the door, and braced herself. How she hated being a shivering, trapped coward! It slowly opened and in walked a tall, finely- dressed man. She observed his appearance in an amused fashion a moment before fear set in. He appeared to be wealthy. His fine cape, black gloves, hat and boots gave proof of his social standing. 'Suppose Berthold has sent this man to kill me!,' she thought frantically. 'I must not let that happen!'  
"My Lady, are you the Marchioness von Hemstedt?," he asked eloquently.  
"No, I'm a whore, My lord. Can't you see that?," she asked bitterly.  
"I see what you appear to be, but I know that you are indeed a Marchioness. A lady of noble blood, who no doubt has a need to escape this brothel," he replied.  
"What do you know about me? I've never seen you before in my life. What should my life or death matter to you?," she said in a hostile voice.  
"I know that you are the wife of Berthold, Marquis de Hemstedt, and I know that he has placed you here to marry another woman; a woman who can bear a living child," said the aristocrat.  
"I hate him! I would kill him if I was afforded the chance! He has made a harlot of me, both as his wife and when he banished me to this place! There has never been a more ruthless, evil creature to slither across the face of the earth," said Annetta, her voice seething with venom. "But how can I destroy him now? Look at me."  
"Come with me, Annetta," he said, reaching his hand down to her.  
Annetta laughed hysterically. "Come with you? Are you in the habit of rescuing the unfortunate of the world? Or perhaps Berthold has sent you here to kill me?"  
"The Marquis de Hemstedt is a vile man. I have roamed the earth, and have yet to find a man so evil as he. I have seen many wicked and corrupted souls in my travels, but he surpasses all," replied the aristocrat. "Allow me to help you find the worst kind of revenge upon him."  
"May I have your name?," she asked.  
"Count Henrich von Krolock, my dear Marchioness," he replied, cryptically. "Give me your hand."  
Annetta slipped her hand into his glove, and he kissed it caressingly. "I will take you back to my home, then we will contemplate what must be done about the Marquis." She arose, and tried to stand on her weakened legs.  
"You will have to forgive me. I've been beaten very badly," she gasped in pain upon getting to her feet. He gathered her withered form in his arms, and carried her from the room.  
  
*  
Annetta settled herself into her warm bath and started a bit as the water hit her wounds. She noticed how badly her once soft, lovely hands were callused, and her feet were worn and bloody because the brothel keeper had taken her shoes. Annetta was appalled at her bruised and battered body. Her lips, those lips that had often been compared to a rosebud by many suitors, were now cracked and blue from the angry fists she had faced before this night. She washed the dried blood and dirt from her hair, and scented it with the rose water her mysterious rescuer had brought. "What do I matter to him?," she thought aloud.  
The Count entered the room, and his eyes fell on Annetta. He carried a lovely robe in his arms, and said, "You will not have to wear those rags anymore, Annetta. Are you feeling any better now?"  
"Yes, much better," she replied. She paused a moment, then asked, "How did you come to know where I was? And how did you escape the brothel keeper?"  
"So many questions. Are you sure that you want the answers?," he replied in the same strange manner he had used at the brothel.  
"I'm no blushing flower anymore, My Lord. I can survive anything you have to say," she replied. Annetta arose from the water and wrapped herself in a blanket. "You saved me from the brothel. I want to know the reason you had for saving me."  
He took the robe and placed it around her shoulders, and his mouth touched the back of her neck. "My Lord," she protested.  
"My reason for saving you is quite simple. You see, I hate to see a woman such as yourself subjugated to be a harlot at the will of her husband. You are a Marchioness, the descendent of Kings, yet he has suffered you to be trampled under the feet of beggars. I heard villagers telling of the dead Marchioness Hemstedt, and of the disappearance of a number of servants from the household. Things of this kind are very rarely kept as quiet as the doer of the deed would like," explained the Count.  
"Has Berthold done some evil against you as well?," asked Annetta.  
"He did evil against me when I beheld your condition in the brothel. For that reason, I will help you fulfill you desire for revenge," he replied.  
"How will you help me destroy him?," she pressed further.  
"You will think me either mad or a monster if I reveal it to you," said the Count. "I have certain abilities, Annetta. These abilities are designed by the Devil himself to work evil; however, I can use them to punish evil as well," said the Count. "You must not think on your desire to see the Marquis die as evil. The world will not judge him fairly because of his power and wealth. His gold and silver are enough to silence the mouths of priests and knaves alike, so justice will not be served. However, there are ways beyond anyone's expectations to see him grovel for mercy."  
"How I long to make him grovel just as I did when he would strike me! All the pleas for mercy, all the begging was in vain to his cruel hands!," she cried.  
"His hands will never again touch you; his nor any other low, crawling creature," said the Count. "There is a way to escape, Annetta."  
"Tell me what you are. I sensed something about you when you entered my room. It was a presence unlike any I have ever felt. I was all at once terrified and entranced of you," said Annetta.  
"I am one of those things which are unexplainable," he replied.  
"That's not a proper answer to give me!," she shot back. "You do not understand, Excellency, that I have very little to live for. Nothing you can say will make me fear you."  
"Is that so, my dear?," he said, opening his mouth to reveal a set of gleaming fangs.  
Annetta was taken aback, and for a moment, was completely speechless. Her eyes turned wild with terror, and the most horrible mad laughter escaped her lips. Her hysteria quickly spread to tears, and she fell to the floor, shaking with fear.  
"I warned you, Madame. You were told from the beginning that my powers have evil as their source," replied the Count at her tremblings. "But, if anyone can bring terror to your husband, it is I. Do not cringe at the sight of me as if I had done you some harm. I have told you that I am here to help you."  
"Even the undead are not so wicked as he," she replied, raising herself from the floor. "I am a madwoman for trusting you, but I feel that I must. There is no other hope for me."  
"You will find that I am not such a terrible alternative to the brothel, my dear. There have been those who have found my embrace even comforting," he replied.  
"Berthold was what every woman in France thought they wanted when he presented me as his wife at Court and at the King's ball. But, in his bed chamber, he was worse than the demons of hell. The things he did to me were worse than Hell," she said, shivering.  
"As long as you are with me, Berthold is powerless to touch you ever again," said the Count.  
Annetta studied his countenance closely. Outwardly, he looked to be a man of average years, but she knew better now. There was something in his eyes that seemed to carry enormous power.  
"How I would love to evoke fear in him! The same kind of fear he evoked in me!," said Annetta fiercely.  
"You can summon worse fear in him! Come with me.....I must show you something," said the Count, extending his gloved hand. She slowly touched its coldness, and his fingers closed around her small hand. He threw open the shutters of the chateaux, and stepped effortlessly out into the air. Annetta gasped with amazement. For the first time, she fully grasped what he was; a creature of enormous power. "Come," he said again, guiding her to the edge. "Trust in my power, my dear." Annetta held her breath, and closed her eyes. She stepped from the window, and surprisingly did not fill the impact of the ground.  
She gasped in fear as she looked down, and held fast to the fearsome figure of the Count. "As long as you hold onto me, you will be able to fly," he said, taking in the scent of her freshly cleaned hair. Annetta smelt of lavender. How long it had been since he held a woman who smelt of sweetness! However, he knew that a bitter, festering revenge was building inside of her. It was that desire for revenge that he hoped would make her his.  
The Count wrapped his arms around her waist, and began to fly off into the night. Annetta was terrified as she peered down at the city of Paris. The night torches gleamed like small candles below their feet, and the troubles and fears of the city felt far away. "I feel free. Free is the only word I know to describe it," she replied, still holding tightly to him.  
"Free? Yes, that is how it feels...until daylight comes. I have a purpose in caring you out this night, Annetta. There is something you must see," said the Count. Annetta did not ask any questions, she just gazed down at the city below and wondered what he had in store for her.  
She braced herself as she felt the Count descending and he shielded her with his cape when they came down through the moss-laden trees. Annetta gave a sigh of relief at feeling her feet once more upon the ground, until she saw where they were. She started a bit at the sight of headstones and crypts in the moonlight, and then turned to the Count. "Why have you brought me here? Do you intend to take me against my will?," she said angrily.  
"Oh, on the contrary, my dear. I merely wanted to show you something that might make your decision a little easier," said the Count vaguely, pointing his long finger towards a stone crypt. "Go read the inscription. The moon is high, you should be able to see it quite clearly."  
Annetta approached the stone sepulcher on trembling legs and read, "Reannetta, Marchioness von Hemstedt, beloved wife of Berthold, Marquis de Hemstedt." She felt such hate boil from within her that it frightened her with its intensity. "Of all the vile, treacherous...!," she began. "And the graves of my poor dead children around me! I think them lucky to be dead rather than born the child of such a fiend! Why are you doing this to me? Take me away from here!," cried Annetta. "I can hardly imagine looking on my own grave, but here it is in front of me!"  
"As one who has been looking at his own grave for some time now, I have lost the feeling of pain or loss when I behold it. There is only the emptiness, the soundless beat of my heart when I think on that empty coffin!," replied the Count.  
"Then surely you of all creatures would pity me now!," she cried.  
"Pity you? I suppose I do pity you, for your fate is to become like me! A lost soul, a damned soul with no hope of salvation! I die with every sunrise, and am consumed by the fires of Hell, only to be wretched from his cursed belly as the sun falls! Those flames! Those horrible, all- consuming flames! Satan stretches me on his fiery rack day after cursed day, pushing me to the limits of all fathomable wickedness! Oh, how you would run in terror back to the cruel hands of your husband if you knew what my hands were capable of!," raged the Count, in a fit of torment.  
"I would rather die a thousand deaths than for his hands to ever touch me again," replied Annetta.  
"Would you drink of the black grail, Annetta? That horrible, wretched cup over-flowing with such file poison and contagion? I am forced to sip of its filth nightly, and to wallow in the terrors it brings over even me! As a man who has seen hell and earth, and been denied Heaven, I feel that you would be more happily ended to lie among these stones, my dear," said the Count. "Flee me, Reannetta! Flee me, and hope to heaven that I never find you!"  
"Why should you warn me of these things? You have every intention of making me what you are, so why not do it now and deny Berthold such peaceful nights? He lies in his bed as we speak, either with a whore or with a poor, unknowing girl as I once was! Why should he be allowed his sleep when I haven't mine?," demanded Annetta.  
"A vengeful heart, my dear. Marquis von Hemstedt made a foolish choice in a wife," said the Count, tracing the delicate curve of her face with one his long fingers.  
"He made a foolish choice when he ill-used me," replied Annetta, removing the collar of her gown. "Excellency....," she continued, the white column of her neck revealed.  
The Count's hands trembled with desire as they clasped around her shoulders, then he shook her mercilessly with want of her.  
"Are you mad? Tell me that you are either mad or wicked so that this deed is not to count against me!," he growled as he pressed her against the stone walls of the sepulcher.  
"I shall not blame you for any torments I endure," she replied breathlessly. "I would probably be dead now had it not been for you."  
Reannetta gasped as he ripped her gown away from her shoulders, and held it to her breasts as the cold blasted against them. He ran his hands up the back of her legs and dipped between her thighs. She gasped with pleasure, and said pleadingly, "Is this the torture you spoke of? My ravisher pleases me." Annetta kissed him forcefully and longingly, for she had never felt such power. The Count broke his mouth away from hers to reveal his gleaming white fangs. Annetta gasped at the sight of them, but she was not afraid. There was something about him that exuded a power that transcended fear.  
"Come, Annetta. Your time draws near. Give me yourself so that I may not take you against your will, for I am that dreaded thief of night who takes all that is good," said the Count ominously.  
"Then steal me, sweet thief," she replied, willingly proffering her neck to him. She watched as a slight smile came over the Count's face, and he lowered his mouth to her throat. Annetta parted her lips at the feeling of his mouth against her pulsating throat, and waited quite calmly for the first stab of pain. He caressed the tender spot on her neck with his mouth, and urged her to come even closer to him. She could not fight the intense desire that arose in her at the feeling of being so close to his mysterious, passionate being. Annetta felt her legs become weak at the intensity of his passion, and only his powerful arms kept her from falling to the ground. The Count lifted Annetta from her trembling feet and looked desirously into her eyes. "Fall away from this world with me, Annetta. Just let yourself fall," he whispered. Her head fell back in complete surrender as his fangs slowly entered her soft flesh. Annetta cried out many times as he drank from her, but it was not so much pain as an irresistible passion that made her cry. Her warm blood ran from her wound and between her breasts, but the Count brushed it away from her with the remnants of her white dress. Annetta embraced his shoulders and pressed his head closer to her throat. She was amazed at how peaceful and lulling dying was, or perhaps it was simply the Count's magic over her. Her eyes seemed fixed upon the moon as he drank the last of her lifeblood. She could not remember the last moment before her death. It was all so slow and passed over her like a strange dream, and the light of the moon was the last thing she saw before dying.  
The Count closed her eyes with his hand, and carried her to the empty crypt that Berthold had mockingly prepared. He broke the lock away with his bare hands, and entered with Annetta in his arms. He lay her down on the stone slab, and covered her with his cape. "When you awaken, my love, we shall have our moment of justice concerning the man who built these walls to entomb you. Little does he know that they hold you only for a while, and when you awaken, he will tremble at your power," said the Count, stroking her brow. He took his place beside her in the crypt, and entered that dreadful world of dreamless sleep as daylight slowly began to creep over the cemetery. *  
Berthold von Hemstedt slowly entered the priest's quite ornate cell in the monastery, and said mockingly, "You have done well for yourself, father."  
"I fear that God will make these walls come down upon me for the things I have done to obtain this wealth," replied the priest.  
"You do not fear anything, my good man, otherwise, you would not have agreed to pray a requiem for Reannetta, knowing full well where she was," replied Berthold with a laugh.  
"I have to eat, my lord Marquis," said the priest with a lit in his voice.  
"You have done more than eat with that money, Father," laughed the Marquis.  
"But I'll do no more evil deeds for you, Marquis! I do fear the wrath of God!," retorted the priest.  
"On the contrary, Father. I wish to be married again so that I can finally produce a legitimate heir to my property. You would only be helping a man realize his dream of having a son," replied the Marquis.  
"That is bigamy! Shall I be accused on the day of judgment for this as well?," he shouted indignantly.  
Berthold threw a bag of gold coins upon the table and said, "Reannetta, if she is indeed alive, which I doubt, is not fit to be my wife anymore. We are divorced in the eyes of the church on count of adultery. Perhaps that gold will help you decide your loyalties."  
"You are a wretched sinner, Marquis," said the Priest with a smile.  
"None worse than you, Father," replied the Marquis. "I am planning a ball for my future wife, who is a cousin of the king, in three days. We will be married the following evening, with you as the one to bless our marriage," he continued. "You will be even more justly rewarded if you comply." With that, the Marquis left the Priest's cell with a confident air.  
The Priest gathered up the coins and stuffed them in his cupboard. "I have had no hand in this murder, Father!," he said, hoping to gain some assurance of his innocence from God.  
"Nay, fool, you are quite guilty of murder," said a voice from the shadows.  
The priest dropped his coins and spun around to address the one who had spoken to him. "What do you want? Who are you?," he said fearfully.  
"Your Master," replied the voice.  
"Oh, dear God, if I have done some wrong against anyone...," he began to plead.  
"God is not your master, and yea are more devil than I! I say that Satan is the one you serve, and now, he shall serve you accordingly," said the voice, revealing himself as the Count.  
"Oh, I have done no wrong! I have done no wrong! Who are you to come at me in the night with these strange accusations?," cried the Priest.  
"Perhaps the one you have wronged should come forth to accuse you," said the Count, presenting Reannetta.  
"Marchioness!," he cried, his face white as death, "The Marquis forced me to do his will! I am but a servant! Please! Do not witness against me!"  
Reannetta was silent, but as she came closer to the Priest, she revealed a gleaming, fresh set of fangs. "No, please, no....!," he screamed, reaching for his cross, but it was too late. Her lust for revenge fueled her angry stabbing of the wicked man with her teeth. She felt the power of immortality course through her veins. The Count took a stake and impaled her victim to prevent him from obtaining eternity.  
"Now, Berthold will pay for his crimes as well, but there are still others," she said, bearing her teeth in anger. "I will see him grovel for the pain he has put me through!"  
"Berthold will be dealt with on the eve of his wedding, at the ball. There are others as you said that must be handled before he meets his fate," said the Count.  
"Yes, the brothel keeper, and the two ruffians Berthold hired to destroy me," she said between her teeth.  
"We must be about our business of revenge," replied the Count, leading her out the window.  
Annetta, as one who had been subjugated to the will of others her whole life, enjoyed her new-found power. All those who had put her through so much suffering would now suffer as well. She and the Count handled the brutish brothel-keeper in a similar fashion as the priest, and she broke away the locks of the dank cells where the women were held. "You are free! Run from this place! Flee from it!," she cried, breaking the chains with her dainty-looking hands. The women looked on in amazement as it seemed that two people, one of them no less a former captive, had freed them from their prison. The Count took a torch from the halls of the brothel and lit the fire to the thatched roof. "I want to watch this place burn," said Annetta bitterly.  
"You are a woman with a mission, my dear, and you have executed your plans well," he said, kissing her.  
"Yes, indeed, in my misery, I had time to thing of the things I would do to these people if I had the power. Now, I do, and I intend to levy my revenge on them a thousand-fold," replied Annetta.  
Not less did she enjoy the trembling eyes of the two ruffians who had sold her to the brothel for five pieces of gold. She reveled in the power of her hands as she lifted them from the floor with the ease of twenty men, and threw them against the stone walls. "Now you feel the pain you put me through!," she exclaimed.  
"You are the devil, you wench!," they shouted back.  
"The devil? Nay, you filth! You will now die for the things you did to me!," she screamed, tightening her grip around their throats until the life was wrenched from them. She threw them to the ground, and she and the Count bit their necks savagely. " Their blood has a filthy taste in my mouth, but it gives me even more power to destroy Berthold, and that is all that matters," continued Annetta.  
"One more night must pass before we have our time with him," said the Count. "Then, you will be vindicated."  
*  
The Marquis stood nervously in his evening clothes at the ball. He did hate for events that were contrary to his plans to occur. "I suppose the good Father made another bargain that turned foul upon him," he mused. But he would find another Priest to perform the ceremony. There was very little that his wealthy could not afford him. Berthold had to admit that the events of the past few days had shaken his assurance however. The Priest's death was an inconvenience, but for the murders of his two accomplices and for the brothel where he had sent Reannetta to go up in flames to transpire within days of each other had aroused his suspicions. "No one would dare question my actions. If they do, they would find their head upon a chopping block."  
He had all but ignored his guests and future bride due to his thoughts. "I must try to remain calm," he told himself. After a few waltzes, the footman came to the stairs and announced, "The Count and Countess von Krolock, Your Grace."  
The guests were still as a regal looking pair made their way down the stairs. The Count was dressed in his most elegant black attire, and a long black cape trailed along behind him. However, it was the Countess that drew the most gasps from those assembled. Her long black velvet gown was encrusted with an extravagant amount of jewels, and her black hair was woven around a tall ruby-laden crown. The shocking thing was that her face was covered by a black mask resembling a raven, and her two emerald green eyes shown brightly through the holes. Berthold looked on anxiously, for he knew he had not invited anyone by the surname of von Krolock to his wedding celebration.  
The Count pointed his long finger towards the musicians, and they instantly began playing a strange waltz for he and his Countess to dance. The guests looked around among themselves, trying not to stare overly much at the newly arrived dignitaries. However, Berthold could not remove his eyes from the strange Countess and her mask. She was somehow familiar to him, and her presence was disturbing. Once the waltz ended, Berthold approached the Count. "Excellency, may I ask who invited you and your Countess to the ball? I do not know a Count by the name of von Krolock," challenged Berthold.  
"I am sent by your King, Marquis. That is all that you need to know," replied the Count with a slight smile. "I saw that you could not pull your eyes from my Countess as we danced. Perhaps you would like the next waltz with her if I may dance with your bride," continued the Count.  
"I would be delighted to get a better look at her, Excellency," accepted Berthold, unknowingly taking his former wife's hand. It took all of her strength not to kill him as the danced. The thought of his hands being this close to her again was appalling. She could not help but give a little smile when she looked into his eyes at the thought of the fate she had planned for him. Something flickered in Berthold's eyes that signaled his suspicious of her. "You are a strange woman, Countess. Allow me to ask your name," began Berthold.  
"My name is not important, Marquis," she replied, smiling still.  
"I should think that a woman who wears the mask of a raven would have a quite interesting name," replied the Marquis, as he slowly moved away from the ballroom. He led her to his library, and she followed him, sure of her power. Berthold closed the doors and locked them. "Now, Countess, you will tell me who you are!"  
"Berthold, do you not know?," she said darkly. "Think, think!"  
He looked at her closely, and his jaw dropped as Annetta slowly removed the raven mask. "Good Evening, Berthold. Now do you know me?," she said with a wicked smile.  
"Reannetta? How in the name of Hell did you survive?," spat Berthold, backing away from her in shock.  
"In the name of Hell is an appropriate phrase for it, Berthold. You see, there are powers at work that you know not of," she laughed.  
"You dare to mock me, whore!," he exclaimed, slapping her across the face. Shock jolted his body when her small hand came back upon him, and threw him to the floor.  
"Bitch!," he exclaimed, returning to his feet, and lunging towards her.  
With complete ease, she sent him flying across the room and into the glass mirrors of his libraries. Berthold, cut and bleeding, arose from the shards of glass and shouted, "What witchcraft have you conjured to obtain such strength?"  
Reannetta flew across the room , and threw him back down among the remnants of the mirrors. She revealed her teeth in victory when she saw the terror arise in Berthold's eyes. "You treated me worse than a dog in the streets when I was alive! I loved you as a child, and you took advantage of that young affection! I was a child in love, and you tormented me! Damn you! Damn you to the most distant abyss of Hell!," she screamed with such a fury that made the walls shake.  
"Annetta, do not you remember the joys of our marriage as well?," asked Berthold, thinking quickly.  
"What joys? The only thing I remember is agony!," she cried.  
"Do you not remember?," he said smoothly, reaching his hand up to her breast.  
"Take your vile hands off of me!," she screamed, tearing away from him.  
Berthold swiftly garbed an cross icon from his library shelves before Reannetta could stop him. She screamed at the sight of it and covered her eyes. "You see, Annetta, I still have the power to make you grovel, you whining, shivering wench! You never were worth very much in life, so how could you hope to be much more in death? As soon as I've done with you, I'll proceed to my other uninvited guest. He may be more powerful than you, but he still cannot resist the cross," said Berthold victoriously.  
"You, of all vile creatures, to take up the cross against anything is beyond wickedness!," cried Annetta.  
"You never understood that wealth is power, did you, my dear? You were nothing until you married me, and yet you still would not give me a son! I'm sorry to disappoint you, ma petite, but your plan to kill me has failed. It worked on the foolish old Priest and that gutter filth I hired to dispose of you, but it will prevail over me!," he taunted her.  
Annetta bared her teeth in utter fury as Berthold once again mocked her. Suddenly, as if out of thin air, the Count appeared behind the foolish Marquis. She have a cry of relief as the Count threw all of his strength against Berthold from behind. They fell to the floor, and the Count struggled to loosen the Marquis' upon the cross. Normally, the human's strength would have been nothing matched with the Count's, but the emblem kept his power at bay. The painful prospect of grabbing the cross from Berthold's hand was not appealing to the Count, but there was no other choice.  
The Count boldly clinched his hand around the cross, and braced himself for the inevitable burning pain. It burned through the thick leather of his gloves, and blazed against his hand. The blazing torment of the flame and smoke proved to be more bearable for the Count than the Marquis. Berthold's fingers lost hold on the cross, and the Count gasped in relief when his hand was finally free. However, rage soon replaced his relief, and he lifted the shivering Marquis from the floor with one hand. "You dare to raise your feeble mortal hand against me, you fool! Have you so much faith in your mortality? You made a foolish choice when you betrayed your wife, Marquis, for now she is mine, and I care for those who claim me as their protector!," raged the Count.  
"Please! Perhaps we can meet an agreement, Excellency!," begged Berthold, trying to escape the Count's wit.  
Count von Krolock paused for a moment, then his eyes became alight. "The only agreement we have, Mein Herr Marquis, is that if you and I ever cross paths in Hell that you will not speak to me, for I'd hate for even Satan to know that I had ever been in your presence!"  
Berthold's eyes became wide, but before he could plead another word, the Count used every fiber of his unearthly strength to send the Marquis flying through the glass window to the rocks below. All that was heard was the final scream of the wicked Berthold von Hemstedt before he hit the jagged stones. The Count looked down from the shattered window to the place where Berthold's body lay. Annetta joined the Count and took his burned hand. "Perhaps now he will find a real use for the mock grave he built for you," said the Count. "I would not have you kill him, my love. It does not matter how much evil is stacked against me, but I would not wish it to be on your head. You have been avenged."  
Annetta pulled the burned glove from his hand, and kissed his palm. "And was Berthold more innocent than you who have done so much for me? I think you a dark angel who has saved me from dying in abject humiliation and poverty. You have given me eternity to find what I have so missed in life," she whispered.  
"Come, let us fly away from here. I will take you back to my home where we will have forever to explore the depths of passion," he said, running the tip of his finger along the bodice of her gown.  
"Never in all my life did I think that it could be so wonderful. I regret that Berthold was the first man to touch me. I would have denied all the men of the world for one moment with you," she replied, embracing him and passionately biting his neck.  
"Nay," replied the Count, pulling her away from his throat and cupping her mouth with his own. "Later, love."  
"I do not want to wait for you any longer," she said with a little laugh. The Count gathered her up in his arms, and flew from the window. The cold wind whipping against them exhilarated her being, and the darkness of the night was conductive to all her longings. She had never felt so alive as when the Count lay her down in the night blooming lilies of the forest. He kissed her mouth with such a force as they reclined in the lilies, and his hands pulled open the bodice of her gown. "Henrich," she gasped his Christian name of the first time. It had been a long time since he had heard someone call his name that way.  
"My Annetta," he whispered, pressing kisses against her breasts. "We will go back to my country where I can teach you what love can be like from now until the end of time."  
"Just until the end of time?," she asked longingly.  
"Nay, even beyond, if there is anything beyond," he replied, running his long fingers through her long hair.  
"Keep me as your own, Henrich. I can belong to no other," she whispered against his throat.  
"Yes, forever my own, love," said the Count, rapturously caressing her, as he would for eternity. FINIS 


End file.
